


Never Say Goodbye

by HewerOfCaves



Series: Canon Divergence AU [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Chronic Pain, Friendship, Gen, Past Torture, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28345008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HewerOfCaves/pseuds/HewerOfCaves
Summary: Fingon moved a little forward as he spoke. His eyes were so bright, and Maedhros’s entire being longed for a touch, for a moment, just a moment of oblivion.Maedhros makes a final decision, Maglor complains but obeys, Fingon meets another cousin.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno & Maedhros | Maitimo, Fingon | Findekáno & Maglor | Makalaurë, Maedhros | Maitimo & Maglor | Makalaurë
Series: Canon Divergence AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1459291
Comments: 28
Kudos: 37





	1. Maglor

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to post another part of this series this year because the last part was posted in 2019 and I didn't want to have a two-year pause between them.

Maedhros was an immobile, dark stain against the green forest. He hadn’t moved since Maglor spotted him. Fingon was nowhere to be seen, and Maglor’s stomach twisted anxiously. He quickened his pace but slowed down again as a wave of agony went from his palm up to his shoulder. Maedhros looked up only when Maglor was almost right in front of him. He focused his gaze on his brother with difficulty. 

“Well?” he asked.

Maglor thought that in the few days of his absence, his brother had gotten gaunter, weaker. He didn’t answer the question.

“Where is Fingon?” he asked instead.

“Fishing,” Maedhros said impatiently. “Did she agree?”

“Yes.”

Instead of relaxing, Maedhros tensed even more if possible. He inclined his head in a nod and seemingly forgot to raise it again.

Maglor sat in front of him. “We don’t have to do this,” he said gently, hopefully.

“Yes, we do.”

“But he wants to stay. Would you make a decision for him against his wishes?”

“Once he made a decision for me against my wishes. I have come to regret it, as he would too if he were in his right mind, but I will not regret this one. I am allowed to answer in kind, to save _his_ life after I led him to torment and abandoned him to it twice.”

It was useless to argue that point with Maedhros, so Maglor tried another approach. “Fingon is better. He has even gone fishing. He will get better.” He hesitated for a moment. “I will not help you do it. It will destroy you.”

“How many days have you been away? Five? Six? Ten?” Maedhros said as if he hadn’t heard Maglor. “He has spent over half the time in terrible pain. He couldn’t move, didn’t know where he was, couldn’t remember anything, neither his name nor mine. And I could not do a thing, could do nothing except sitting there and telling him things he didn’t understand, I could not even damp a rag and put it on his head. Do you know how it feels to see someone you hold so dear in so much pain and be powerless to do anything to help?”

Maglor stared at Maedhros, swallowing down a biting reply. Maedhros’s eyes darted away for a moment, then returned to his brother.

“It will be done,” he said. “If it destroys me, let it be so.”

“No,” Maglor said through gritted teeth. “I won’t let it happen. I won’t let you send him away, so you can die. You will not leave me alone. I will help you only if you promise me that.”

Maedhros looked at him, and for a moment, Maglor was afraid his brother would either strike him or start weeping. But instead, his shoulders slumped, and he suddenly seemed smaller, insubstantial.

“Are you really doing this to me?” he asked in a low voice.

He already sounded defeated, so Maglor didn’t answer.

“I promise,” Maedhros said. “I promise I will live.”

Maglor felt no satisfaction for getting what he wanted because he saw how Maedhros’s eyes dimmed as if what life still remained inside of him took a step closer to the abyss.

“It’s a five-day walk,” Maglor said, looking away from his brother. “Maybe longer with Fingon. She guarantees our safety and freedom. Her husband won’t be there.”

Maedhros said nothing, didn’t nod, didn’t move.

“What are we going to tell him?” Maglor asked.

Not receiving an answer, he lapsed into silence too until Fingon returned.

“Makalaurë!” he exclaimed. “You are back.”

Maglor stood and hugged him carefully. Fingon, too, looked worse than before. He seemed more brittle, his eyes were sunken, his limp more pronounced, even the burn scar that stretched around his throat seemed darker. His hands were shaking so badly that he kept dropping the two small fish he had caught when trying to clean them. But he was smiling, his mood clearly improved after Maglor’s return.

“Did you find our cousin?” he asked after he was done with the fish.

Maglor nodded. “She is expecting us. We will be on our way as soon as we have eaten.”

Fingon’s smile disappeared. “She is… Whose daughter was she?”

“Uncle Arafinwë’s.”

“Oh, right. I met him. In the camp.”

Maglor was silent for a moment. “I know, Fingon. You told us.”

“Right.” He looked at Maedhros and asked quietly: “Why do we have to meet her?”

Maglor waited, but Maedhros didn’t look like he intended to answer. Seething, Maglor said: “She is our cousin, after all. She will be glad to see you. And… she might help you-us. With your ailments and ours.”

Fingon still looked unsure. “Is that the only reason?”

“Of course. What other reason could there be?” Maglor said, not without bitterness.

Fingon shrugged. “Is it true, Russandol?” he asked.

Maglor bit his lip, irritated. As if _Russandol_ would tell him the truth. Maedhros didn’t answer for a long time, but Fingon waited patiently.

“Yes,” Maedhros said finally.

Fingon smiled. “Oh, wonderful. I would love to meet her.”

Maedhros turned away, and no matter how much Fingon insisted, he didn’t eat.

\---

In the end, the journey took them over ten days between Maedhros walking as if in a dream, Fingon losing himself in pain, and Maglor exhausting all his strength to sing healing songs for his cousin.

When Fingon was asleep, Maglor tried to argue with his brother. It was the anger and the desire to do something, rather than hope, that forced him to hiss alternatives to Maedhros’s plan under his breath, while he changed the damp cloth on Fingon’s forehead or stroked his hair with nervous but gentle movements. Maedhros didn't answer. He spoke very little and never to Maglor. Sometimes Maglor thought his brother didn’t even hear him, but he would flinch and walk away whenever in his pain-filled delirium Fingon cried out things that were incomprehensible for Maglor. Maedhros often stayed silent, even when Fingon asked him something, but their cousin was relentless, repeating the question until Maedhros would say a few words. Fingon would smile to him but then send a concerned look to Maglor, to which he would answer with a helpless shrug.

Approaching Galadriel’s camp, Maglor had the same feeling as the last time. It was reminiscent of what he had felt while crossing the border of Doriath. Judging by Maedhros’s grimace, he felt the same. Fingon seemed wary. He rolled his shoulders as if trying to shake off the enchantment.

All three of them started when Galadriel appeared out of nowhere. She didn’t spare even a glance to Maedhros and Maglor, instead walked to Fingon with a smile.

“Cousin,” she said. “Welcome! I was glad to hear the news of your survival and gladder now that I can see you with my own eyes.”

“I am… glad to meet you,” Fingon says. “I…”

He looked furtively at Maedhros and Maglor, asking them for help. Maglor could tell from his eyes that he hadn’t remembered Galadriel.

“I have been told your memories aren’t complete,” Galadriel said, as though reading his mind. “Don’t worry, I don’t take offense if you cannot remember me yet. But surely you remember my brothers?” She linked her arm around Fingon’s, walking him away. Fingon tensed but followed her. “Angrod and Aegnor,” Galadriel said with a distant look. “They were your friends. You used to ride together in Aman and here, in Ard-galen-that-was.”

“I think…” Fingon glanced back at Maedhros and Maglor, who hadn’t moved, aware that there were others between the trees, so many eyes trained on them. “Aren’t Russandol and Makalaurë coming?”

Maglor saw the panic in his look and smiled a strained smile. “Of course we are,” he said.

Maedhros was already walking to him. Galadriel let go of Fingon’s arm and approached them. “I am doing this only for Fingon,” she said very quietly so that only they could hear. “Try to be invisible. I am barely holding back my people from slaughtering you.”

“We will not disturb you,” Maedhros said. The first words that he had spoken in a couple of days came out shakily.

Galadriel looked him over. Her gaze stopped for a few seconds at his bandaged left hand, then at his face, his dimmed eyes. She nodded.

When Maglor turned to Fingon, he seemed a little more at ease.

“I think I remember your brothers,” he said with a faint smile, which quickly faltered. “But they-they were angry with me?”

Maglor froze. They hadn’t talked with Fingon about Alqualondë yet and didn’t know how much he remembered.

Galadriel took his arm again. “It is all in the past, Fingon,” she said. “Let’s go.”


	2. Maedhros

Someone was singing far away. Or maybe not too far away. Maedhros couldn’t tell anymore. It had become so difficult to process what was going on around him. His thoughts were slow. Voices reached him from a deep well. The last few days had all blended together, and if asked he couldn’t answer how long they had walked, in what direction; couldn’t tell when the day had changed into the night; was surprised to find himself sitting against a tree. He knew he was losing touch with reality at an alarming rate, but he was too tired to be concerned about it. He saved the remnants of his strength for Fingon, for making sure he would be safe. He had to do it and then… And then he couldn’t even die. Maglor wouldn’t let him.

The spike of anger died as quickly as it had risen. No strength to spare. His mind felt untethered. He wondered vaguely where his brother was. Not at the feast, surely, but probably not too far from it, keeping an eye on Fingon, repeating the new songs he heard under his breath to find a way to improve them. The thought almost brought a smile. He leaned back and felt life coursing under the bark of the tree. It grounded him enough to be able to hear someone approaching.

He would recognize Fingon’s footsteps, even if it weren’t for the distinct limp. He had missed those steps for the last hundred years, and now that they were back, he was doing everything to never hear them again.

“Russandol, here you are,” Fingon said, sitting next to him.

Maedhros noticed his wince and frowned.

“I am fine,” Fingon said, smiling. “Nothing hurts too much. I’ve brought you something to eat. Will you let me?”

Maedhros nodded just because he knew it would make Fingon smile again. He didn’t feel the taste of whatever it was Fingon was feeding him, focused on Fingon’s movements, on the minute changes in his expression as he strained to keep his hands steady. 

“I like our cousin,” Fingon said, once Maedhros had eaten and drunk everything he had brought. “Although she is…” He paused, looking for the word. “Intimidating. And she doesn’t like you very much. But I think she can be convinced to help you. How long are we going to stay with her and her people?”

Maedhros could only raise his right shoulder. He didn’t trust himself to speak, didn’t trust himself to even breathe, afraid that he would give himself away, would confess the lie, and ruin everything.

“I know it is hard for you, Russandol,” Fingon said softly. “I know that feeling. Back there, I was constantly afraid that I would forget how to speak, so I kept talking to myself in the dark, but it got harder and harder to do until I forgot why I wanted to remember. But you helped me, you helped me remember, and I will help you too.”

He moved a little forward as he spoke. His eyes were so bright, and Maedhros’s entire being longed for a touch, for a moment, just a moment of oblivion. He strained all his muscles deliberately, to stop himself, to lock himself up in his invisible prison. Then he looked at Fingon again and in a moment of weakness, decided to give in to the temptation, just this one time, as an apology, as a farewell. He inclined his head and rested his forehead against Fingon’s.

Fingon's lips twitched in that half-smile that Maedhros knew so well, that he had been gifted with so often, that he hadn’t seen for so long. He found himself smiling in return, letting himself forget for a moment everything that had happened and was going to happen.

Fingon raised his hand to Maedhros’s face with a gentleness that even Angband hadn’t been able to beat out of him. Maedhros could feel the tremble in his fingers. He wished desperately to reciprocate the gesture but trying to move his left hand resulted in a gasp and a wince.

Fingon cupped his face, frowning a little in concern. Maedhros’s eyes closed of their own volition. His lips moved, forming words he didn’t dare to say out loud.

“Forgive me,” he whispered.

“There is nothing to forgive, Russandol,” Fingon said.

Maedhros shook his head, tried to find a way to tell him but couldn’t. Words were eluding him, hiding in the mist that was threatening to invade his mind. Another slight against his father’s legacy. The thought made him laugh soundlessly, only his shoulders moving.

“Findekáno,” he said finally. “More than anything in the world, I want you to be safe, I want you to heal, I want you to be happy.”

“I know that,” Fingon said, puzzled.

“Forgive me,” Maedhros repeated in despair.

“Of course,” Fingon said readily.

Maedhros winced again and pulled away. He turned his back to Fingon. “They will miss you there,” he said.

“Did I do something wrong?” Fingon didn’t sound hurt, but there was worry in his voice and a note of fear.

Maedhros turned to him. “No! No, you did nothing wrong.”

He ached with the need to touch him, to reassure him. For a moment, he regretted breaking skin contact, but no, that had to be done. He had no right. No right to seek comfort with Fingon when he was lying to him, betraying him, even if it was for his own good.

“Nothing wrong,” he said. “I only wish to be alone.”

Fingon nodded. He didn’t smile as he stood and walked away. Maedhros leaned back against the tree, drained. He knew Fingon hadn’t gone far. He could feel his eyes on him from somewhere between the trees. He took a breath and curled his fingers. Pain, piercing and all-consuming, shot up his arm, went like a lightning bolt through his entire body. He opened his mouth in a silent scream, then fell forward, dizzy, breathless, biting his lip, feeling the blood trickle down his chin. He gave himself a few moments to breathe. Then he did it again.


	3. Maglor

Maglor didn’t sleep the night, wandering along the outskirts of Galadriel’s camp to avoid suspicious and sometimes outright hostile stares. He thought he was the first to see Finarfin approaching with a few of his chosen warriors. No, not the first. His cousin appeared suddenly, way ahead of him, and threw her arms around her father. Maglor found it prudent to draw back.

He saw Maedhros sitting on the ground and Fingon behind him, trying to braid his hair. Maedhros face was twisted horrifically, as though he was being put through the worst torture. Fingon broke his concentration to raise his head and smile at Maglor, who forced himself to smile back. He knew now the answer to his question. Maedhros hadn’t told Fingon. Not that Maglor thought his brother would have the courage.

He walked away and found a good spot to hide just in time to see Galadriel approach Maedhros and Fingon. She said something very quietly. Fingon tied Maedhros’s braid with a narrow piece of cloth and got to his feet, closing his eyes tightly for a moment and swaying. Maglor sighed. Dizziness usually preceded Fingon’s debilitating headaches, which would definitely make this whole deal a lot harder.

“Would you like to come with us, Russandol?” Fingon asked.

Maedhros stood with his help but shook his head. Galadriel took Fingon’s arm and led him away. Maedhros stared after them for a moment, then forcefully tore his gaze away and curled his fingers, quivering. Maglor flinched and almost ran to his brother, but Fingon’s cry distracted him. Maglor turned his head and saw through the trees Finarfin’s armor glinting dully. He had one hand on Fingon’s shoulder, the other one raised to his nephew’s face but not touching. Galadriel was gripping his arm. Even from that distance, Maglor could see that Fingon was trembling.

“Let me go,” he said, pulling away from Finarfin.

“Listen to me,” Finarfin said. “Findekáno, please, just listen—”

But Fingon was shaking his head. “I am not-don’t want to— Please, let me go!” His voice was louder now, frantic. Maglor wanted to stop listening, wanted Finarfin to leave, wanted Fingon gone already, so this would be over. He glanced at Maedhros, who had thrown his right arm over his eyes. Maglor wanted to go to him, to shake him, to make him put an end to this.

“Russandol!” Fingon called.

Maedhros jolted and pressed his back to the great tree he was hiding behind.

 _Go to him, you coward,_ Maglor found himself thinking.

“Russandol, you said you would never lie to me!” Fingon’s voice was getting more and more distraught. “Why are you doing this to me?” Soft murmurs tried in vain to placate him. “Russandol, please!” he cried. “Please don’t do this to me.”

Fingon’s words hit Maedhros like a boulder. His eyes glazed over. He slid down the tree and sat there, dazed, his look empty. It seemed like all the threads tying him to life had snapped all at once.

“Makalaurë!” Fingon called in despair. “Please help me!”

 _I_ am _helping you; I chose you over my own brother._ Maglor himself was surprised by how bitter and even vicious the thought was. He was angry, angry with himself, with Maedhros, with Galadriel, angry even with Fingon, who was blameless in this.

He closed his ears, hid deeper in the shadows, but when Fingon desperately called his name again, he walked to his cousin almost against his will.

Finarfin was holding him by the shoulders, both he and Galadriel were whispering, but Fingon kept shaking his head, trying to twist away. When he saw Maglor, his eyes lit up with hope.

“Makalaurë,” he said, his voice breaking. “Tell them I am not leaving. Where—” His face was distorted in pain. “Where is Russandol?”

“He doesn’t feel well.”

He hated how concerned Fingon suddenly looked, forgetting about his ordeal, hated that he could not hate him.

Fingon tried to say something, but it turned into a sharp hiss of pain.

“Let’s go sit somewhere and talk, all right?” Maglor said.

He looked at Finarfin, who reluctantly let go of his nephew’s shoulders. Fingon’s knees buckled, but Maglor caught him with one arm, steadied him, then took his hand and pulled him away. Fingon sat carefully under a tree and hid his head in his hands.

“Is it a bad one?” Maglor asked.

Fingon didn’t answer, focused on controlling his breathing. “Why—” he started, then closed his eyes tightly and pressed his fingertips to his temples. “Why would you do this? I don’t-don’t want to— Take me to Russandol.”

“Later,” Maglor said. “When you both recover a little. You cannot talk to him like this, can you?”

“I told him—” Fingon gasped and clutched at the knee of his bad leg. Maglor knew it meant the pain had spread through his entire body, inflaming every injury, old and new. “Told him— Why wouldn’t he listen? Tell them—”

Fingon grabbed Maglor’s uninjured hand, squeezing it hard enough to hurt. He doubled over, keening thinly. Maglor realized what he had to do, but it took him a few moments to cross that line.

“How about I sing a song of healing, and we will talk when you feel better?” he offered.

Fingon squeezed his hand again, lightly this time, to signify his consent.

Maglor started an ancient slow song. Galadriel and Finarfin, who had followed them at a distance, joined him. Fingon’s pain was great enough that he didn’t even question it, didn’t question that this wasn’t similar to the healing songs Maglor had sung for him before. As the song went on, the purple flowers peeking through the grass bowed their heads, the branches of the tree above them lowered, and Fingon fell into a deep sleep, leaning against his cousin.

When Maglor fell silent, Galadriel and Finarfin approached.

“You have days. Get him to the ship before he wakes,” Maglor said, struggling to get the words out through the haze of weariness and grief. He rested his head against Fingon’s, murmuring an apology.

“Thank you,” Finarfin said, his voice strangled.

He picked up Fingon, nodded at Maglor, and walked away. Galadriel said something, but Maglor was already past the brink of consciousness.

When he woke up, there was no sign of Galadriel’s or Finarfin’s people. His hand was newly bandaged and seemed to hurt a little less. There were a few pouches in his lap with what he assumed was food. Maedhros was sitting next to him, awake but motionless. He, too, had new bandages and food.

Maglor didn’t know what to say or what to do now. All the words on his tongue were bitter and angry, so he swallowed them down because they were of no use. He just sat in silence, waiting for Maedhros to take the first step and knowing that he wouldn’t. As he expected, Maedhros neither moved nor spoke. When Maglor, restless and eager to leave, pulled him to his feet and offered to start walking, Maedhros followed him, but he didn’t make a sound, and Maglor knew that he would not speak again. All the threads tying him to life had indeed snapped all at once, leaving only one, his promise to his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, yeah, Galadriel is supposed to have crossed the Blue Mountains after marrying Celeborn and having an ominous conversation with Finrod, but I don't like it. What, do I have to accept that she played no role in the big events of the First Age? That she didn't meet her father for the first time in over 500 years? #NotMyCanon 
> 
> I have two other parts planned for this story and another one vaguely formed, but after that I'm stuck.


End file.
